


The ultimate entanglement

by eyeslikerain



Series: A certain carnal element [3]
Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: AU Henry lives, AU ten years after Hampden, F/M, M/M, but told in Richard's usual way/don't expect too much porn, don't do this at home, lots of sex in the country house, the ultimate entanglement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-16 03:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20186911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikerain/pseuds/eyeslikerain
Summary: „How are you?“„Fine, I guess. I mean - confused, a bit. But happy. Pretty shagged out, too“, I couldn‘t avoid adding.





	The ultimate entanglement

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, but I know now: I should have done chapters instead of a series. Next time...

„Phile“, I heard a warm, rich voice. The constant soft drone of Columbia‘s beginning-of-the-year bustle faded into the background. I‘d recognized Henry‘s voice anywhere. He leaned in the open door of my office and smiled, content to see my surprise. I got up slowly, like a child trying to contain it‘s joy because the vision might fade into a dream. It was rare enough that Henry showed up in person at my workplace, and I still feared to hallucinate while I carefully laid my fork back onto my lunch.

„Are you real?“, I teased while I rounded my desk. His smile spread into a grin:  
„Sure. Come here“, he opened his arms for me while entering my room. We hugged. I let myself fall into his familiar scent, the soft, expensive feeling material of his jacket. I patted his back when I felt his lips brush my cheek ever so slightly, and I mumbled „Phile yourself“ into his hair.

A knock at the door frame separated us. Sure enough, Betsey, the department‘s secretary. I‘d have to prepare myself for questions later on and sighed inwardly. Betsey was a feast for the eyes in her elaborate revival of pre-war fashion. Usually, I was glad to see her and compliment her on the day‘s outfit. But her noisiness was as legendary as her love of gossip.

„Sorry to disturb, Richard, but – you still have the board meeting tonight on your agenda?“  
I nodded: „Of course. Thanks.“  
I reached around Henry and closed the shabby frosted-glass-door into her curious triumphant face. Henry stayed calm:  
„Now it‘ll be all over the department, I guess?“  
I raised an eyebrow and sighed:  
„You‘d assume staff has better things to do in those hectic first weeks… Never mind. Just tell Francis on occasion that it really was you.“  
„I‘m not sure the incident will appear in a more favourable light“, he remarked drily.  
„What incident?“, I slapped his arm playfully. „As far as I‘m concerned“ - I froze when I saw his expression. Since Henry had children and was constantly around vivid Camilla, he had shed many of the mannerisms which had made him appear aloof and quaint in Hampden. He even had learned to react like a normal person, if I may express it as bluntly as that. Had he abhorred ambigousness or harmless jokes back in our student days, he seemed to enjoy it now to pull one‘s legs occasionally.  
„Well...“, he stepped closer again and held my gaze. I felt myself tremble inwardly. His eyes, blue like cornflowers, still had the same mesmerizing effect on me like when I met him for the very first time. I realized with a certain shock that Henry, among various other worldly accomplishments, had even learned how to flirt.

I turned and asked:  
„Have you had lunch? What brings you to Manhattan?“  
He bit his lips to hide a smile. He must have noted my confusion, but thankfully didn‘t dwell on it.  
„I didn‘t eat yet. Sorry to interrupt your break“, he gestured to the glass container on my desk. „Do you have time at all?“  
„Yes, yes. I‘ve a lecture in – what time is it? - forty minutes. Care to join me here?“  
„But it‘s your lunch!“  
„Francis always packs generously.“  
„Francis does lunches for you?“  
„Of course. You know him!“ We smiled at each other. „On Mondays, that is. He usually plans a meal for Sunday night with leftovers I can enjoy cold on Mondays.“  
„He‘s the best, isn‘t he?“  
I nodded: „Of course. Now, look here, there‘s really more than enough. I just don‘t have another fork, but – let me take the spoon. Here you go.“ I unwrapped the cutlery Francis had tucked inside a damask napkin and gestured to the chair in front of my desk.

„What brings you here? Need my xerox card?“  
He smiled: „No thanks. I have a meeting with my publisher this afternoon and needed to check something in your library here. Thought I‘d just pop in.“  
„Best idea ever.“ I looked at him affectionately, but he only had eyes for Francis‘s chicken and broccoli:  
„This is marvelous. Do you always eat like that?“  
I nodded: „Just your regular work lunch“.  
He raised his eyebrows: „Lucky you.“

„So, your book is coming out in February, I heard?“  
„Yes. You know, I‘m already up to my knees in the next one. You know how these things use to drag on.“  
„Yes, but – get us an invite to the presentation, will you?“  
He nodded: „Of course. But tell me – how are you? And Francis?“

Shuffles, voices and occasional laughter on the hallway as well as the soft ticking sound of the rain on the windowsill accompanied our peaceful lunch. It felt good to have Henry close again, to pick with him off one plate and share the meal that was actually meant for me alone. It was the sort of intimacy you extend only to a few chosen ones. We enjoyed our meal relaxed and leisurely, in stark contrast to all the meetings and lectures looming ahead of me. We filled each other in about the summer. Henry‘s tales of Italy at the height of August transported me into southern, bluer skies despite gloomy, rainy Manhattan in front of the window. I loved his description of the tiny, sturdy herbs emitting their fragrance among the ruins they had visited, the flitting small lizards, the occasional snakes which fascinated the girls.

When I returned with two mugs of tea and rummaged my bag for the buttery shortbread Francis had packed, I found Henry on his feet in my cramped small office. I took it in with his eyes and was a bit concerned about the untidiness and general state of my bulging shelves and overflowing desk. But he didn‘t seem to notice - his eyes were on one of the rare vacant spaces of wall opposite my desk. I had hung a framed postcard of the Pantheon there, had taken care that it stood out by having enough free space around it as it was rather tiny.

„Why the Pantheon?“ he asked. I stopped and looked at him calmly. Placing the mugs on a board, I sat down on my desk, my eyes on the little antique frame.  
„I like to see it when I‘m working here.“  
He joined me, one long leg outstretched, and settled himself onto my desk also. We both looked at the black-and-white photograph.

„You know, for one, it reminds me of Francis and our stay in Rome. Forever. I wouldn‘t want to have a picture of him in here, you see.“ He nodded. „So, mainly, this is just a sentimental thing for Francis. He selected the frame. And wrote something on the back of the card. But also...“  
I looked at him sideways. His black hair fell into his forehead. Sapphire eyes flashed under it when he turned to look at me. Suddenly, I was very aware of his thigh next to mine. He was still so good-looking. I noticed two undergraduates casting a curious glance into my room in passing and got up to push my door closed again with one foot. While I returned, I heard Henry‘s voice:  
„I also have memories of the Pantheon. With you.“  
I made myself comfortable on the desk again. Snowflakes drifting in through a hole in the roof. Teeth-chattering cold. A cold that seeped right into my bones. Weakness in my limps. I tried to ban those still traumtic images from my mind and looked at Henry:  
„Do you?“  
„Don‘t tell me you forgot it. How you lay half frozen and almost lifeless in that lousy, ratty warehouse. Without any heating or light. Snow falling on your dodgy threadbare blanket. Blood on your face.“  
„I never knew if I had fantasized that or if you really said it looked much like the Pantheon. I was surprised at my sick mind playing the perfect Henry-like prank on me.“  
„I did say that. Sorry if it seemed insensitive at that time...“  
„Not at all. Assured me that it was really you. First, I mistook you for the angel of death finally coming to get me. And you know what? I was relieved. I was utterly relieved it was all over. I couldn‘t have taken it one day longer. If you‘d really been an dark angel of Hades, I‘d gladly surrendered into your arms.“  
He looked at me with a painful expression: „It hurt to see you like that. Believe me. It tore into my heart.“  
I briefly touched his warm soft hand: „You came at the right moment. You ended my nightmare.“ He squeezed my hand back.

„So – you really said that? About the Pantheon?“  
He nodded.  
„See – I‘m glad we talked about it. Glad you came here. Because, as I said, I wasn‘t sure anymore if I had dreamed that. But always loved the Pantheon when I finally saw it. The direct connection to heaven… This large uncovered opening allowing sun and rain and stars inside the temple… I loved that. Had completely suppressed any memories of other open roofs and snow.“  
„There are pictures of snow coming into the Pantheon, actually. It happens once every few decades, but – it does.“  
„Thank you. Not for me“, I smirked. I got up to hand him his tea and opened the bag of shortbread.  
„I like it that you have a picture of it in here.“ He searched for my eyes, suddenly grave. „I think fondly of our time together. As you know.“  
„Yes. I know“, I replied softly. A delicate, warm tingling spread between us. Part of an erotic undercurrent, but also a familar, warm intimacy and old bonds. I moved nearer to touch his leg with mine. Just – a little connection. Nothing too daunting, but I needed to feel him. He remained silent, but I felt his heart opening. After some seconds, I continued softly:  
„It‘s amazing, isn‘t it, how things are more than what you see at first sight. How everything has got a different side. Two sides, closely intertwined, but one cannot see the other. How everything is connected.“  
„Sorry?“, he said.  
„Me sorry“, I chuckled. „That wasn‘t very clear. I wanted to say: I must have stored these memories of you saying Pantheon in my presence somewhere deep in my subconsciousness. And then I loved the place when I saw it for real the first time. Because - it‘s a work of beauty. Francis was with me. But also – I had a forgotten, deep connection to you. And it‘s the same with people, isn‘t it? They can be just one thing – a colleague. A secretary. A gardener. But also – everything in one person. Like Francis is to me and Camilla to you, I guess.“  
We were silent. I was aware of Henry‘s breathing, his scent so close to me.  
„And then, there are persons who suddenly, unexpectedly, can become something else in your life. While staying outwardly the same.“  
He looked at me. I held his gaze, even if I felt a certain nervousness creeping up my spine. I wet my lips before mumbling very softly:  
„Francis and I talked about… You know.“  
He raised his eyebrows.  
„What Camilla and you told us last November.“  
„And in which setting did you talk about this?“

Sharp, bony shoulder blades. Freckles on them. Strawberries in a colander in front of us, Francis‘s lustful cries reverberating from the messed up kitchen island. I felt myself blush.

„I see“, Henry smirked contentedly. My cheeks felt hot all of a sudden.  
I ran my fingers through my hair. Henry caught them and kissed them lightly. I stared at him.  
„Camilla is everything to me. I would gladly sacrifice my life for her and the girls. She is my great love and I‘ll always be there for her. I guess you feel the same for Francis.“ I nodded silently. „But, as you said, people can be much more than just the first thing they seem to be.“

An energetic knock at my door made me jump and get onto my feet. Alice, a graduate student, popped her head into my room:

„Oh, I‘m sorry, I didn‘t know you had a guest. May I disturb you briefly?“  
„Of course. What‘s up?“  
„The script of the Marlowe symposium you mentioned isn‘t anywhere in the department. But you know, I need the essay you suggested for my thesis. Do you happen to have a private copy?“  
„You checked in the library, I guess?“  
She nodded eagerly:  
„It‘s too new. Not shelved yet.“  
I got around my desk to search in the drawers and also on the desk. While I jotted down a note to order some more copies for reference, Henry got up. Alice flashed a smile in his direction and I saw the effects his good looks had on others at first hand. She started to tuck at her hair and short skirt. Good heavens.  
„Alice, listen… Mine should be in Hampden. I can have my assistant xerox the essay for you and send it here. Care of Betsey. Check in with her in two days, will you?“  
She nodded but didn‘t look at me. Henry seemed amused when he sat down in the chair for visitors.  
„Mitchell, isn‘t it?“  
I seemed to have torn her of her reveries. She looked at me with large eyes, blinked and confirmed:  
„Yes, Mitchell. Thanks so much, Dr. Papen. Sorry for the interruption. Good bye, Sir.“

„That „Sir“ was for you“, I grinned when she had closed the door behind herself and I took a seat on the creaky small sofa opposite Henry.  
„What a spring chicken“, he sighed. „Makes me feel ancient.“  
„Nonsense. Look here, I‘ve to leave in five, but I need to know – about what we talked about earlier, you know...“  
I kneaded my hands in front of my knees. Finally I sighed. It wasn‘t easy to cover this in a few minutes, but I needed to get some answers. The bizarre offer from last fall had germinated and sprouted in my head over the last months. Needless to say the elaborate fantasies Francis and I had together on this didn‘t help much to forget the possibility.

„Tell me – aren‘t you ever afraid sleeping with various partners might affect your relationship? Might even destroy it?“  
„No. Why?“  
I snorted. Henry, cool and composed like always, even under those circumstances. Why wasn‘t I surprised?.  
„For one thing, we only do it together. Having a real clandestine affair would be quite different, I assume. Secondly: I‘m sure of our love. As is Camilla. Nothing can change it, especially not a physical encounter. It goes deeper.“  
„But – very well, I believe you. Or try to. But what about including friends? People you‘ve had an emotional bond with for a very long time?“  
„Oh, I see. Francis and you really talked about it.“  
My cheeks got hot again. He smiled at me encouragingly:  
„Do you fear our friendship might suffer?“  
I shrugged. I didn‘t know anything about those things.  
He leaned back and seemed calm. „I‘d say it can only – enhance and deepen our relationship.“  
I sighed. The increasing noise on the hallway and the shuffling shadows in front of my door made me check my watch.  
„Does Francis have the same reservations?“  
I shook my head and got up.  
„Sorry, Henry, but I‘ve got to go… Why don‘t we talk about this undisturbed on one of the next weekends? At home?“  
He got up also and came closer.  
„We could come to you. Camilla loves the turning leaves as much as Francis, and his place is just gorgeous in fall.“  
„Phile“, I repeated his first word and embraced him slowly. He put his arms around me, but held me a bit apart to see my face:  
„There‘s nothing to be nervous about. And we don‘t have to do anything if just one of us doesn‘t want to. All right?“

The thought of „doing anything“ shot right between my legs. I moaned:  
„Damn it, Henry, you‘re the reason I start the second lecture of the semester with a hard-on.“  
„Really?“ His eyebrows shot upwards and he took an ostentatious long look down my pants.  
„Well, I might help you with that, but I can‘t guarantee your session...“  
„Stop it“, I gasped. I pushed him away from me only to cling to him the next second. I hugged him violently until we swayed. I felt his lips on my cheeks before I tore myself apart.  
„Give me one minute, please. And let‘s get in touch soon.“  
„Shall I leave the door open?“  
„Yes, please.“

*

Even in retrospect, and with a certain distance, writing about the night in question seems one of the most daunting tasks in my life, including complicated academic chores as well as personal memories. As you, gentle reader, know, preserving exceptional incidents by forming them into sentences and paragraphs is second nature to me. Certain events only made sense for me after having bound them in suitable words. I need this kind of refraction to be able to examine and understand my life. It has been my habit for years to start my days alone and in silence with my diary. The written word comes easier to me than any spoken ones. And as the faithful of my readers know, there are no topics I ever had reservations to write about, be it infatuation, love, death, abysmal miseries or the greatest joys.

It seems inexplicable to me that I finally arrived at the one event in life I cannot write about. Not because words fail me. Would I write for myself alone, I‘d surrender to a lush orgy of the finest, most colourful vocabulary to try to capture the extraordinary events of our night together. Words that go beyond any boundaries, as we did in this memorable night. Had you been there, you‘d realized: it was transcendental, all-encompassing love we experienced. It had all and nothing to do with sex. It was so much more than mere bodily encounters, though the ecstasies we reached were beyond anything I had ever witnessed, surpassing even the extraordinary proceedings my friends had experienced in the infamous night of their first bacchanal so many years ago, as they say. Even if I fail most certainly to give a clear account of this very different bacchic-like state we were in, let me assure you: nothing bad happened. The proceedings realigned and bound us in a completely new and deeper way as a group of friends.

I hesitate to go into more details also for the simple reason that the whole endeavor sounds extremely tacky and vulgar. And predictable. And I‘d claim that being predictable is the last thing one could say about any one of us. But reduce it to the facts – couples nearing middle-age, being caught in routines and work, being a bit bored possibly, seeking refuge in your good old swinging and group sex – and you see immediately that those facts are as far removed from the true nature of the proceedings as imaginable. It was not your tawdry suburban sex party that leaves you with a bad hangover, jealous scenes and embarrassed smiles in the school pick-up lane. There was no sour, bad aftertaste. No gloomy hangover or anything close to a sordid „morning after“. Quite the contrary: we, I especially, felt like reborn. I still can look my friends straight and unabashedly into the eyes. Everything I see there reflects and doubles my new and deeper affection for them. Our mutual esteem and love increased manyfold by what ordinary people might consider tasteless, despicable deeds.

For the sake of not sounding too cryptic, let me try to give you a hint, a blurry sketch of this saturday in the country house. But the task makes me hesitate much too long: should I tell in chronological order and bore you with details like „this was the time I realized Francis had lost almost all of his clothes“ or give you a sort of impressionistic painting, some brushstrokes highlighting Camilla‘s hair flashing outside in the orange and yellow woods or Henry‘s chest glowing golden in front of the fireplace? Again, I‘m at a loss for words.

Just let me tell you that we started with a perfect autumnal walk in the woods. Late afternoon light reflecting all the gold nature scattered generously around us. Warmth, dryness, clement, mild temperatures and rustling leaves under our shoes. A discussion about the nature of love, initiated by Camilla who observed that, not only since being a mother, she realizes that love grows when you spread it. The source is endless, there are no limits. One shouldn‘t be afraid of holding it back for the sake of having some more left, just the contrary: love generates more love. Any kind of love: spiritual, physical, friendship, and the purely erotic kind. Love is there to be shared. I don‘t know if her moving and beautiful words were planned or spontaneous, but they changed the whole atmosphere. Never had an autumn day been more glowing and russet or warmer. Never had I felt to be part of nature and feeling and just being more than in those minutes. It seemed only natural that Francis gathered Camilla in his arms, pressed her lovingly against one of the grand old oaks and kissed her coral lips. This first physical contact, the sight of them exchanging and multiplying physical, tangible love, was the turning point. I cannot say that matters tumbled onwards in a rush from there. It was rather a slow but steady crescendo, building itself from the memorable, most picturesque sight of Francis and Camilla kissing over the span of the whole afternoon and evening into the tumultuous, ecstatic wave washing over us later on. Matters progressed slowly in the beginning: tentative caresses, a brief holding of hands, tiny pecks on cheeks and necks.

When we returned, Henry and I lingered on the porch. The early sunset painted the sky in the most vibrant hues of lavender, pink and orange. We watched in silence while the colours became even more intense and a luminous blue unfolded over the burst of colours accompanying the sun in the west. When Henry looked at me, his eyes even bluer than usual due to the reflections of the intense light, I couldn‘t but step closer and kiss his lips. Slowly, searchingly. He responded in kind. There was intensity in our kiss, and a deep bond, but no passion yet. This would follow all too briefly, but for now, this first, tentative kiss was like a soft and delicate overture to the great spectacle happening when darkness finally fell. Like the overture of „La Traviata“, I thought in retrospect: gentle, short, but with a wonderful, unforgettable line floating through our hearts.

I‘m not able to give you an accurate account of the further proceedings of this memorable evening. It might sound sordid, or too technical, or revolting even. Let me tell you: it was all but revolting. It was a very rare, very special expression of friendship, love and bodily lust. Everything unfolded so naturally and symbiotically that I never felt awkward or embarrassed. Being naked with all of them was the most natural thing to do. Also using our lips, tongues, fingers and cocks to give each other pleasure, over and over again. Technically speaking, I united with every one of them. But I wouldn‘t put it like that. We slept all together, somehow, entranced in an endless symphony of lust and desire with at least four varying voices intertwining. And like in a symphony, some voices took the lead while others lingered in the background, less active, but still there to support the whole picture. I also cannot tell you how long this true orgy lasted. I was never alarmingly out of my mind, nor did we drink too much. But I lost count of the time and saw with surprise that it was past midnight when I went into the kitchen to get some water for all of us. 

Camilla and Francis had lighted several candles long ago, even replaced some of the first ones by now. The fire crackled when I returned into the library. I found Francis and Camilla on the sofa, Camilla spread out on her back in sensual curves. Henry sat on the floor and had his head on her thighs. His and Francis‘s hands touched on Camilla‘s stomach. I stopped to take in the whole tableau and almost forgot to breathe for the calm beauty Camilla‘s pale body emanated. Francis - I just assumed it must have been Francis – had decorated the moist, curly hair between her legs with a yellow rose. Another snipped rose rested on one of her breasts, while individual leaves trailed a pattern over her stomach. Camilla had her eyes closed and resembled an antique goddess more than ever. She sighed softly when I approached them. Her eyelids fluttered while she gestured for me to join them on the sofa. She raised her head and put it in my lap when I had made myself comfortable. The rose on her breast slid. I caught it and graced her tiny rosy nipples. Her breasts still were delicate and dainty, despite having nursed two babies. She leaned back into me with a sigh. I would have loved to kiss her nipples, but I was too far away. Groping for Francis‘s hand, I let myself sink back into the cushions and closed the eyes also. The last thing I felt before I drifted off into a slight, short slumber was Henry‘s hand caressing my feet.

And this is how I want to remember the evening of our mystical union. Not the wild contortions and combinations of bodies, the very plain details of bodies ready to receive and give each other pleasure, the wet proofs of lust oozing from every imaginable orifice – no. I want to store this serene, peaceful and slightly spent image of the four of us naked and intertwined on the sofa. The candles flickering on naked skin, hair radiating in the light of the fire, tired, languid caresses of whichever body part loving fingers found. Fulfilled and content almost beyond anything I had experienced in this regard.

*

We separated only hesitatingly for the night. Henry and Camilla, who should know, claimed that two couples in one bed stood for a restless, uncomfortable night, and we were all to spent and exhausted to put their experience to the test. So we retreated to our respective bedrooms, and I fell asleep immediately in Francis‘s arms.

When morning dawned, the door to our room opened with a soft squeak. Camilla appeared. She wore an innocent white cotton night gown and had her pillow under one arm. Her hair was tousled and she seemed a bit disoriented. She blinked at me and whispered:  
„Sorry, but Henry is writing. May I?“  
I nodded. The watch showed 6.15. Francis moaned and moved a bit to the side to make room for Camilla between us. She climbed gracefully into our large four-poster, kissed each one of us and snuggled back into Francis who spooned her from behind. I gently stroked her forehead, smoothed her golden hair back behind her ear and caressed her neck. Was this lovely girl the same woman as the sensual creature writhing and moaning in ecstasy in my arms last night? I‘d need some time to get those two pictures together.

Francis and her had always been the late risers among us, and I was able to watch in wonderment how easily they slipped back into Morpheus‘s arms. I needed a bit longer but finally also felt my eyes grow heavier. One hand on Camilla‘s hip, I finally drifted off also.

When I woke up the second time, a clear, luminous morning light suffused the room, the herald of another splendid autumn day. I knew the slight chill in the country and the shedding of sweaters and cardigans later on only too well and looked forward to another day of picturesque splendour. Francis and Camilla offered the first lovely tablau of the day: he had turned onto his back, she rested on his chest and had one delicate hand curled in front of her. They seemed to sleep deeply. I entangled myself cautiously from the sheets and hoped that my shower wouldn‘t wake them up. Afterwards, I slipped into my bathrobe and left the room noiselessly. I knew Henry might write for another two or three hours, even after an orgy like last night. I hoped for some time alone with my diary and some coffee.

But I was pleasantly surprised to find Henry on the porch – I had assumed he‘d be in the room he had elected as a study whenever he stayed here, but despite notebooks and various tomes in front of him, he seemed in a companionable mood. He looked up and smiled when I approached him silently:  
„What a sight. Good morning.“  
I grinned insecurely. How to face an old friend with whom you had, more or less accidentally, sex last night?  
„How are you?“  
„Fine, I guess. I mean - confused, a bit. But happy. Pretty shagged out, too“, I couldn‘t avoid adding. „And you?“  
„Splendid.“ He stretched his arms and torso before getting up and gathering me in his arms:  
„Come here.“  
I assumed hugging might be what etiquette demanded under such circumstances. I had expected Henry had gotten into his usual aloofness when putting on the armour of his clothes and was surprised by his warm, long embrace. His wandering hands, especially, which made me aware that I was only insufficiently clothed. Henry seemed to continue where we had left off. His whisper tickled in my ear when I felt his hand on my lower, I mean really low back:  
„Are you all right? I didn‘t hurt you, did I?“  
I felt heat rising in my cheeks. Memories of him inside me flooded me with an intensity I actually couldn‘t take in the morning. I hid my face in his neck and moaned. He grasped my shoulders and pushed me away a bit to see my face. He seemed concerned, but when he looked into my eyes, a small smile spread over his cheeks:  
„I see. Next time, you can do that to me. If you want.“  
A whole flight of butterflies began to stir in my stomach. My pulse tingled in my ears and I was only able to manage:  
„Is there possibly any coffee left?“  
Henry smoothed his cheek once more against mine and told me to sit down, he‘d made a fresh pot for us. I sunk into one of the wicker chairs (we had replaced the old ones as they really had started to come apart) and looked drowsily over the lake. Fine, spiraling morning mist still hovered over the serene mirror of the water. The maples on the other side already radiated in the morning sun, and the sky had this perfect shade of blue you find only on crisp October mornings. 

Henry returned with a steaming, fragrant pot of espresso, a cup for me and also a plate with toast. He served us the coffee and handed me my cup. At a loss for words, I leaned towards him and offered him my face. He kissed me gently on the lips before sitting down in silence again. We drank our coffees in companionable silence. How rare are the people in our lives with whom you can enjoy silence! And I felt: I didn‘t want to talk about the secrets and mysteries of the night. Not now and here, not later. This was our very own secret history. This perfect clear morning wasn‘t the place for reminiscing the kind of state we‘d been in only a few hours ago. I got myself another cup of hot coffee, got up to lean at the railing and faced Henry. We looked at each other, kindly and affectionately, but without talking. Finally, we smiled. And I knew: we‘d cross this border again. There was no reason why we shouldn‘t.


End file.
